


Just a Little TLC

by fishfingersandjellybabies



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 07:38:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19389523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishfingersandjellybabies/pseuds/fishfingersandjellybabies
Summary: Dick was not sick. Really. He was fine. Fine!





	Just a Little TLC

**Author's Note:**

> Damian stays for a week. He gets a few sniffles and Dick goes ALL OUT about it, but just to be annoying. Tim texts frequently to check up on Dick, just like Dick expected him to. Damian acts like he’s a winner because he thought of coming to check on Dick/escaping the manor for a few days first. Tim blatantly says he’s the winner because now Damian isn’t there to stand over his shoulder at the computer all the damn time. Dick just loves his family.
> 
> For @whatatime30! Thank you sooooo much for donating! Their reward request was a fic with a sick Dick and Damian taking care of him, stoic to fluffy.

He was dying.

Not really, but being dramatic felt like a good way to feel better. At least a little bit anyway.

He sniffed and looked at his nightstand, where the tissues were. It was only three feet away, but he didn’t know if he had the strength to reach that far, or even roll over.

Curse the common cold. Or the flu. Or whatever really simple illness he had.

And it was. It was just some fatigue, clogged nose, sore throat, a mix of coughing and sneezing. He wasn’t dying, of course not. Just felt like absolute shit.

He forewent the tissues. Just used the sheets he was wrapped up in. They’d need washed eventually anyway. Twisted to cough into his pillow. Let out an annoyed groan as his body ached.

This sucked.

He sniffed as his phone buzzed under his back, and he grumbled as he feebly reached for it. It was a text from Tim, something about a case, or a movie or…Dick didn’t know. He couldn’t focus. So just sent a smiley emoji and hoped that worked.

He didn’t mention he was sick. Couldn’t, his family counted on him. As Nightwing, as a big brother. The family was already stretched thin enough, they didn’t need to worry about him, or have him down for the count.

So he reached for the cough medicine. Because drug-induced naps were _great_.

He heard his phone buzz again as he drifted off, but didn’t pay any mind. It probably wasn’t important anyway. Just Tim asking about that movie or whatever again…

~~

He awoke with a jerk, feeling that sudden panic of being late for something. He grimaced as he rolled towards the nightstand to look at the clock.

Five hours. He’d been asleep for five, almost _six_ , hours. Which, his mind supplied after a moment, wasn’t a problem. He had off work today, and the sun was only just now setting.

And sleep was good for illness. Rest, that was the best medicine for something like this.

So he sighed, flopping back down. He couldn’t breathe out his nose, and his throat hurt every time he inhaled through his mouth. His eyes felt crusty, and the soreness of his muscles made him feel like he was one hundred years old.

But that was no excuse. The sun was only now going down, he had another four hours or so until he wanted to start a patrol around the city. So maybe another swig of cough meds, another long nap, and then preemptive painkillers while he suited up for Nightwing’s night on the town.

He tried to sniff through his nose, and it ended in a quick coughing fit. He sighed as it ended, absently picking up his phone, vaguely remembering that it had buzzed earlier.

Another text from Tim, as he’d thought, but it wasn’t just an absent question or remark like he’d assumed.

_You feeling okay?_

Dick cursed to himself, trying to blink the lingering sleep from his eyes. Tim had texted him five hours ago, and Dick never answered. Worse, he glanced up at their previous exchange, the one where Dick responded with an emoji, and saw that what he’d responded to was: _There’s been another murder that matches the serial killer’s style. That’s the fifth victim this month, right?_

Who knew what Tim thought. He tended to overreact sometimes, after all. Did he think Dick was drunk? Under duress? Kidnapped?

Was Tim on his way over? He hoped not; if Tim saw him in this pitiful state, he’d not only tell Bruce and Alfred, but baby him. Ask him if he was okay every few seconds. Take time out of his own busy life to take care of his sad older brother. And Dick didn’t want that. He didn’t want to be a burden to Tim, or anyone else in the family.

It was just a cold. He was fine. Really.

Still, he quickly tried to respond, hopefully before Tim had jumped into any kind of action.

_Fine! Sorry, totally passed out for a bit. Been an exhausting few days. See you on patrol? We can talk about your case then!_

Dick hit send, and the message was immediately put on read. Ten seconds later, his phone informed him that Tim was typing back.

_Damian changed his mind?_

Dick squinted and tilted his head to the side. Damian?

Dick lifted his fingers to type back – _What do you mean did Damian change his mind?_ – when there was the sudden metallic clash of pans from within his apartment.

Despite the utter misery he was drowning in, Dick dropped the phone and jumped from his bed, muscles ready to fight as he quickly ducked into the hall, and headed towards the noise.

The clanking of pans continued without a worry, like whoever broke into his apartment didn’t care if they were caught. And as Dick crept closer, he heard the running of water, and…the click of his stove?

When he peeked around the corner and into the kitchen, Dick almost laughed out loud at his own caution. Because it wasn’t a burglar in his home. Or even an assassin.

It was his baby brother.

(His baby brother who _didn’t_ have a key to his place, he was almost positive.)

Still, he relaxed his shoulders and stepped around the wall. Gave a long sniff without a thought.

“Damian?”

His voice was croaky and thin, but he hoped it wasn’t too obvious to the boy currently holding a ladle, and standing on his tip-toes to stare into a pot on the stove.

Damian turned at the sound, but he immediately scowled at Dick.

“You should be resting, Grayson.” He scolded.

“What are you doing here?” Dick asked, walking into the kitchen. “And what are you doing, _period_?”

“When you didn’t answer Drake’s text, I came to investigate.” Damian said simply. “When I found you surrounded by your own snot and tissues, I contacted Father and told him you would need the night off, and that I would take the night off as well to take care of you.”

Dick smiled at that. God, this kid.

“How’d you know I was texting Tim?”

“I was watching him respond to you.” Damian shrugged, then glanced up. “He was hogging the computer and wouldn’t let me use it, so I stood behind him waiting for him to vacate.”

Dick laughed, a nasally sound, and ruffled Damian’ hair. “I’m fine, Damian. I appreciate it, but you don’t need to take care of me.”

“It’s either me or Pennyworth, and you know how strict he is about us recovering from an illness.” Damian shrugged.

“I’m not sick.” Dick tried, but knew when Damian looked up at him that it was already a losing battle. “Really!”

“You are.” Damian sighed, like an exasperated mother. Then glanced up with a smirk that was all Bruce. “…You’re the one who taught me we don’t need to suffer alone. Or were you just being a hypocrite?”

Dick opened his mouth to argue, but…well. Damian did have him there.

“…You little brat.” He shook his head, but wrapped his arm around Damian’s back and squeezed at Damian’s shoulder in a small hug.

“I’d apologize if I meant it.” Damian hummed, stirring the pot.

Dick smiled, and went to kiss Damian’s head, but thought better of it. It was bad enough he was sick, the last thing anyone needed was for him to spread the virus.

“Sorry I took you off patrol.” Dick mumbled. Damian shrugged.

“Gotham has been quiet lately.” Damian said nonchalantly. “And Father is being frustrating, so. A break from it is… _not_ a bad thing.”

“Frustrating?” Dick echoed. “Anything you want to talk about?”

“No.” Damian said truthfully, in a way that made Dick feel he truly didn’t need to worry about it. “He’s been frustrating everyone. One of those situations of being too close for too long or whatever. So I’m happy to be here. Really.”

And that…made Dick’s heart do a little flip or two.

“…Fine. I’ll let you take care of me then, I _guess_.” He snorted, though the gesture hurt with how clogged his nose was. He shivered at the sensation, and glanced back to the pot that Damian had been slowly stirring. “…So what are you making?”

“Soup.”

Dick blinked. “…Do you know how?”

Damian paused. Twisted his lips and glanced away. “…No.”

Silence.

“But Drake said he’s going to send me a recipe.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and glared at it. “ _Eventually_.”

“You’re cute.” Dick laughed. Gave Damian another quick squeeze. “…Thanks for being here, kiddo.”

“Of course.” Damian replied simply. “Now go lay back down before I break your kneecaps and force you to.”

“Ah, yes. There’s the tender loving care I need.” Dick cackled, but the laughs turned into coughs. Damian stared expectantly up, and Dick released him, waving it off. “I’m going, I’m going…”

He didn’t return to his bedroom, instead choosing to flop onto the nearby couch. As he settled, he heard Damian give a grunt of approval, before setting back to his task of making some sort of soup.

And Dick found himself dozing off even without another dose of cough medicine. Lulled to sleep instead by the feeling of safety, comfort and love.

When he woke, the skies outside were dark, and there was a tray on the coffee table in front of him. Soup, a cup of tea, both still hot and steaming, the bottle of cough medicine and his cell phone.

A warm blanket was across his shoulders too. One he knew he didn’t own. One that smelled distinctly of the manor.

Damian sat in the loveseat next to the couch, reading a book. There was a bowl in front of him too, but it was empty.

He shifted, letting Damian know he was conscious, and quietly asked, “How long are you going to stay?”

Damian didn’t look up, just turned the page. “For as long as you need me to.”

Dick smiled, chalked up the tears in his eyes to his cold, and slowly sat up to eat the soup his little brother had made for him.


End file.
